For Youth in Japan, Love Is a Many Segmented Thing

By KEN BELSON

Published: September 1, 2002

TOKYO—
THEY arrive quietly, walk tentatively and whisper in awe. Some hold hands, others hold their mouths. Few give their names and most leave silently shaking their heads.

The Meguro Parasitological Museum in Japan is a rare storehouse devoted entirely to tapeworms, bloodsuckers and other organisms that feed off their hosts. The ghoulish gallery in central Tokyo has amazed and alarmed millions of students, researchers and veterinarians for nearly half a century.

But in the last several years the museum has also turned into an urban version of Blueberry Hill, where eager couples come to bond and test their mutual mettle. And while two floors filled with graphic pictures of goiters, a world map of infectious diseases and bottle after bottle of hookworms would seem unlikely to put one in a romantic mood, there appears to be no shortage of young lovers willing to play Gomez and Morticia Addams for a day.

''The museum is seen as some kind of fun house,'' said Prof. Akihiko Uchida, the museum's director, who also teaches medical zoology at Azabu University outside Tokyo. ''But once you come here, you know this is not like that. Perhaps people come because they want to be scared.''

About 70,000 people visit each year. Two-thirds are in their teens and 20's. But Professor Uchida is not complaining about the clientele. The finances of the foundation that runs the museum are, he said, a mess, as record low interest rates quickly chew into the foundation's investments. Worse, the museum's founder, Satoru Kamegai, who bankrolled the operation with money from his private medical practice, died in late July at the age of 94.

Mr. Kamegai's son was supposed to take over the museum, but he died suddenly two years ago. That left the 55-year-old Professor Uchida, a disciple of the founder, to carry on. To make ends meet, he installed a gift shop with T-shirts, key chains and post cards. A guidebook called ''The Wonderful World of the Worm'' describes many Japanese parasites, especially those found in fish. For 3,300 yen ($27.50), you can buy a shirt emblazoned with a diphyllobothrium nihonkaiense.

The museum also publishes a compendium of scholarly articles in Japanese and English called ''Progress of Medical Parasitology in Japan.'' The next edition, which costs $200, is due in February. A newsletter, the ''Parasite Museum News,'' has been discontinued, but ''Hara no Mushi Tsushin'' (''The Stomach Worm Correspondence'') is still in circulation.

No amount of reading material, though, can outdo the museum's pièce de résistance: an 8.8-meter-long (28.5 feet) tapeworm frozen for eternity in blue Lucite. The white worm is so long that it fits into the vertical case only by being draped up and down seven times. There's an equally long string nearby if you want to measure it yourself. (Warning to sushi lovers: The tapeworm was taken from the small intestine of a man who ate marinated trout.)

Professor Uchida is not sure how the museum, which for years was the province of scientists in lab coats, became a hot spot for starry-eyed pairs. A few years after teens started making their way there, several television variety shows featured the museum, helping solidify its popularity.

Whether or not the amorous visitors are getting an education or simply a grotesque thrill, however, is an open question. On a recent visit, the professor could be seen on the museum floor talking about good parasites and bad parasites, Japan's historical success with ridding the country of its worst pests after World War II and new parasitic culprits being introduced by pets and other animals.

A young couple ambled over to listen, but before Professor Uchida could engage them in conversation, they slipped away, side by side, as quietly as they arrived.

Photos: For some couples, a display of tapeworms helps to set a mood. (Photographs by Stuart Isett/Gamma)